Battling to Birth Wild Balance

“What matters in life is not what happens to you but what you remember and how you remember it [to tell the tale].” ~ Gabriel García Márquez

 

My bit of the North revealed its skull hollow on a mad Tuesday. Mandibles dropped for cover, tongues lashed out in outrage, and no less than 1,001 fists (per nanosecond) pumped towards the heavens in despair—dark clouds and powerful men with darker souls gave exactly zero fucks. But… worry not, my Ink Warrior, today’s babies sharpen their teeth on the neckbone of injustice.

I art my words strange,
fill my tales with blood and feels.
My poetry howls
of love and other demons
battling to birth wild balance.

 

the wee notes…
– If Death had not felt the need for the best of storytellers, my dearest Gabo would’ve turned 91 today. He has been gone for almost 4 years. To celebrate his amazing life, I chose 4 of his quotes, crafted them into a blackout poem, expanded the poem into a tanka, and grew it into the tanka prose you’ve just read. Also, the fourth line of the tanka is the title of one of Márquez’s novels. Feliz cumpleaños, mi Gabo, your words will always live in needed tales.
– I apologize to those of you who were expecting the next bit of “In a Normal (probably-pre-apocalyptic) Reality”. I’ll post it next Tuesday. I just couldn’t skip my Gabo on the anniversary of his birth.
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.

How Different We Are Not

My pen won’t be sated by blood pumped by the heart of another. The best tales are filled by laughter, wails, pleasure and agonies birthed out of flesh and spirits that lived them. You can’t suffer my hurts for me, I won’t weep your tears for you. But we can carve our feels into each other’s bones, and share with the world until all see how different our hates and loves are not.

I write crimson words
full of dark moons and tamed screams,
you should write your own.
I want you to art with me…
in colors that soothe your soul.
.

for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.